


The Peace of Cintra

by Nocturniquette



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Iorveth whump, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturniquette/pseuds/Nocturniquette
Summary: He didn't want to look. He knew the cruel warden at the prison had disfigured him. He knew he looked monstrous.





	The Peace of Cintra

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a short drabble like this for my friend, M.S. on tumblr and decided to post it to AO3. Hope you enjoy it, and as always, any feedback is definitely appreciated.

Iorveth hesitated as he looked at the smooth surface of the lake before him. After escaping Drakenbourg Keep with the help of his brother, Isengrim, and a dragon of all things, this would be the first time he’d seen himself since his incarceration with the...humans.

He was ready for this. He was. Niggling doubts in the back of his mind were ruthlessly crushed down. He could do this. 

He closed his eye, and took a deep breath. He leaned over the water’s edge.  
Wrestling with his emotions, Iorveth finally had enough and wrenched his eye open.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.  
A sharp gasp left his mouth as he stared at his reflection.  
A shaking hand reached up to touch his face, but stopped short of feeling the monstrous scar now adorning his features. 

A wrinkled face appeared over his shoulder, a face he knew well. The man had short cropped salt and pepper hair, a defined nose, a short forehead, deep blue eyes, and a thin mouth which was twisted up into a familiar sneer.

“How does it feel Elf? To know that I’ve stolen something so precious from you?” the hated voice of the man who disfigured him whispered into his ear.  
Iorveth inhaled deeply and swung around, green eye wide with fear.

Only there was no one there. It was just him in the small clearing.  
Iorveth swallowed thickly, bile rising in his throat. Would he never be free of that gods damned voice!?

He peered into his reflection once more. This time was little better, because he actually worked up the nerve to touch where his eye used to be. 

“No one will want you now Elf….if they ever did.”  
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!!” Iorveth screamed at his mirror image before he used his fist and pounded it into the water. The picture of himself warped and distorted bizarrely. The scarred Elf hit the water again and again, uncaring that he was getting himself all wet. 

Tears blurred his vision and he struggled to breath. A distant part of himself realized that he was having a full blown panic attack. He snarled weakly at himself. He was Iorveth Ap Anerian. He bowed to no one. The cruel warden may have broken his skin, but he didn’t break his mind. He ignored the taunting voice in his own head. He refused to break. 

He took several deep breaths before he shakily got to his feet. His face may be marred now...but those dh’oine would learn to fear him if he had anything to say about it.

He slung his bow over his emaciated skeleton and sighed. This was not going to be an easy trip.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Iorveth didn’t know how long he wandered, but his short term goal remained the same: find the Scoia’tael clans and unite them. The humans had made their move, time and time again. It was time they made theirs. It was time to tell the humans who thought themselves so much better than all the other species that they would not be cowed. That they would stand for their harsh treatment of their people no more. 

He knew of one elf clan just inside the borders of Temeria, in the forests near the backwater village of Flotsam. First, however, he needed to get out of Nilfgaard territory. If he was captured now...he’d never escape again. He kept to the shadows and only moved at night. Several times, he was forced to relocate or make a quick getaway, as Nilfgaardian patrols branched further and further out. 

Eventually, he made it to Temeria, but it had taken him several months. The journey was long and hard and it unfortunately showed. The normally well defined muscles in his arms and legs had atrophied from disuse. His stomach had shrunken in to the point that his ribs were visible and protruding almost grotesquely from his body. There really wasn’t a whole lot to eat while on the move. A lot of Nilfgaardian patrols were out after the riot he and Isengrim started during their daring escape. His face had sunken in, making his high cheekbones more defined. Overall, he looked completely different from the Vrihedd Commander he’d once been. Just thinking about Nilfgaard’s betrayal made an angry snarl appear on his lips. They would pay. They would ALL pay.

He was weary and exhausted, but still somehow found the inner strength to keep going. A few feet from a shallow creek bed, Iorveth’s body collapsed and he hit the ground hard. It seemed he had reached his limit. Hatred could get you through a lot of things, but not everything.

He was found by the Scoia’tael quite by accident.  
Ciaran frowned at Cissna, his younger assistant out in the field. It was a simple patrol, but still, shouldn’t she be aware of the fact that the Scoia’tael operated in the shadows?! Her blasted humming was only going to bring trouble to their doorstep!

Ciaran growled when she started to softly add lyrics to her music. She was out here to be a Scoia’tael, not a bard!  
He fervently wished for something to take his mind off of the youngling accompanying him.

Not even a minute later, he heard a fast, sharp whistle, indicating that someone had found something.  
“Ciaran!” It was Theron. And he sounded panicked. Given the fact that the elder Aen Seidhe was usually the epitome of calm, Ciaran hastened to his side, bow drawn.

Ciaran entered the small clearing where a tiny creek bed lay, gushing water softly. “Theron?” he asked at seeing the other Elf’s face.  
“Gods above Ciaran, it’s Iorveth!”  
“What?” he asked, before kneeling beside the small figure.  
“Who’s Iorveth?” he heard Cissna ask. He tuned her out.   
Hesitantly, he reached over and touched Iorveth's shoulder. The bone dug almost painfully into his hand before he carefully turned him over.

The first thing he saw was the horrible red scar that ran up the side of his face and...Ciaran swallowed against the bile in his throat. His eye was missing. Gouged out by something sharp. Dear sweet Gods above! What had happened to his friend?

He quickly realized that Iorveth needed his help and got to work.   
“Theron, help me carry him. He’s going to need a lot of help judging by the state of him. Cissna, Fain, get back to the camp and tell Cedric that we need his help. Tell him we have Iorveth and are on our way.” 

The dark-haired she Elf nodded and fled backwards, taking Fain with her. 

“How bad is it?” Theron asked softly.  
“Bad enough. From what I can see there are signs of malnutrition...not to mention what happened to his face...” he whispered.   
“Who could have done this to him?” Theron asked, but judging by the expression on his face, he already knew.  
Humans. It was always humans.  
But Ciaran was more interested in how this happened to him. He gently lifted Iorveth’s ratty shirt up and gaped in astonished anger at his exposed chest.

Scars crisscrossed Iorveth's torso and down over his protruding rib cage. There were circular shaped scars on his arms and shoulder-blades. Ciaran’s eyes narrowed. Burn marks. He traced the thick, jagged scars around to his Commander’s back and felt his face lose what color it possessed.  
Whip marks. Someone had tortured Iorveth.   
Ciaran gnashed his teeth together, his rage at the humans responsible nearly blinding him, but acquiesced when Theron asked him to help him get Iorveth off of the dirty ground.   
“He’ll be alright Ciaran. He’s tough.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Have a little more faith in our Commander, young one. He obviously escaped and traveled a long way if he made it here. Iorveth will be alright.”

Feeling a little bit better about the situation, Ciaran helped Theron carry Iorveth back to the safety of the Scoia’tael encampment. 

Iorveth would be alright.  
But he couldn’t help but to wonder how much his friend could take before he finally shattered.

 

He woke up surrounded by darkness. It took him a full minute to realize that the room he was in was dark, but there was a candle off to the his right side that had been helpfully placed there by someone, which was the source of the dim light in the room.  
It took longer than it should have for his vision to become accustomed to the low light.

“Iorveth? Thank the Gods! I’d thought we’d lost you. We heard that the Vrihedd Brigade had been captured. We feared the worse….”  
Cedric said, coming into view and brushing the long errant strands of black hair from Iorveth's face.   
The scarred Elf turned his face away, silently horrified that his best friend had seen injury done to him.

He licked his lips. “We?” he rasped, his voice weak from disuse and dehydration.  
Cedric gave him a soft smile that was laced with sympathy and...something else?   
“Ciaran and I. We both worried for you when news reached us about what happened.”  
Iorveth snorted bitterly, he highly doubted that his friend knew the truth.

Cedric helped him drink a small bit of water and wasn’t put off in the least by the small snarl Iorveth gave him for his own weakness. Iorveth sighed as he felt the cool water sooth his parched throat. That had definitely helped.

“Then you missed the best part. They betrayed us.”  
Cedric frowned. “Who betrayed--” but he was interrupted.   
“Nilfgaard betrayed the elves that fought for them.” He coughed, but stubbornly continued. “In exchange for leniency, the South gave us up.” Iorveth choked on a bitter laugh. He ignored Cedric’s quiet voice telling him to stop talking, lay back and get some rest. 

“Give up the officers of the Vrihedd Brigade or watch as the North slaughters thousands of our youth. The choice was clear. I gave myself up...but it didn’t matter. Not in the slightest.” He laughed again. He didn’t care that he sounded half-mad. He took another sip of water. He felt the weight of Cedric’s pitying glances and snarled at the other Elf. He did not deserve such a thing. Not after watching his brethren executed and tortured and done nothing about it…

“Those of us that weren’t executed immediately were tortured. Gods, the screams Cedric...the screams...how do I forget the screams…?” Iorveth asked breaking down.

“You’ve said enough my friend. You need to rest.” Cedric said wrapping Iorveth in a hug.  
He didn’t know how long he stood there for, hugging a sobbing Iorveth to his chest. He felt his own tears drip silently down his face. Oh Iorveth...the pain he’d endured had already been foreseen by him. He knew that this was going to happen. He didn’t know the how or the why of it, but he knew that Iorveth had been destined for pain. It was one of the things they had fought about before Iorveth had left.

He gently pulled back, but was stopped by Iorveth. The scarred Elf was gripping his arm tightly, a wild sort of glint in his remaining eye.  
“Stay...please. I don’t...I don’t want to be alone...” He murmured, yawning shortly after.  
Cedric’s heart went out his friend. He hadn’t seen Iorveth in many months. He doubted the other Elf remembered their fight before he left to join the ranks of Nilfgaard’s army.

But that was then. Iorveth needed him now. They could figure out the future later.  
He just prayed that Iorveth would forgive him for deciding to leave the Scoia’tael, and by extension, Iorveth himself, far behind him.


End file.
